Purgatory
by wolfiegroupie
Summary: continuation & alternate universe. Primarily Milly x Wolfwood but other characters appear. Just added Ch. 11. Wolfwood post ep 23 must deal with a new reality...
1. Default Chapter

_God what a day, _Milly thought, as she let the office door bang shut behind her. Incompetence was rampant at her company. It seemed like for as long as she could remember she had worked for men without vision, without leadership, and without logic. The only thing she wanted to do was relax in a bubble bath with a good book, maybe do a little yoga. But even as she thought these things, a tiny part of her mind told her she would probably spend the night on email fielding the same stupid questions from her superiors that she had already answered in the meeting that afternoon. With a sigh, she adjusted the shoulder strap of her computer bag and crossed the street, wondering why every day was exactly the same.

She hated the walk to the car each night. During the day, it was no problem, but at night the shadows turned sinister and the same bums who smiled at her in recognition during the day glared at her in drunken belligerence in the evening as she passed their outstretched hands.

Almost as if she had jinxed herself by thinking about it, she suddenly noticed three slouching silhouettes at the corner. As she approached, she saw they were young boys, looked mean, and their eyes looked her up and down and took in the rather too-obvious laptop case she carried. She sped her pace slightly, pulling out her cell phone with her thumb poised over the "9" just in case.

_God, what a day_, Nicholas D. Wolfwood thought to himself, as he took a deep drag on his cigarette and leaned against a dark lamppost. He had woken up that morning disoriented and in pain. The last thing he remembered was Tonim Town, and he had been running through the streets, chasing his corrupt mentor and Gung Ho Gun namesake, Chapel the Evergreen.

It seemed to Wolfwood that he had won that particular battle, but for some reason part of his memory was blank. His body ached in twenty different places, and he didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was disturbed that he couldn't remember how he got to this bizarre place.

Inhaling the welcome and familiar smoke, his thoughts drifted. He had woken up in the gutter. _Well, hadn't been the first time that happened,_ he admitted. And at first he thought he was still dreaming. Or drunk. This place was unlike anywhere he had ever been. There were trees, for one thing. Trees everywhere. And more people than he had ever seen in his life.

It hadn't taken long to realize he was very, very far from Tonim Town. Needle Noggin was nowhere to be found, or the Insurance Girls. An ache completely separate from the physical pain in his body hit him suddenly as he thought about Milly. He hoped she was OK, of course the small girl was taking care of her as usual, he was sure of it. And if Needle Noggin was around, they were better than OK.

He felt on the edge of a revelation all day long as he had wandered the strange streets, learning more about this weird city, but it eluded him. Try as he might, he couldn't remember how he got there.

The cloudy sky had become night before he realized it, and, lost in his thoughts, he had finally succumbed to the situation--he was hopelessly lost, without much money, without many cigarettes (infinitely more annoying, in Wolfwood's opinion), and without any obvious way of improving his situation. The lamppost felt good against his aching back. For the first time he could remember, the Punisher was a real burden, weighing heavily on his shoulders and making his frame tremble unpleasantly.

He ground the cigarette stub beneath his foot and noticed off to his left some thugs watching a young woman walking down the deserted street. Immediately alert and correctly sizing up the situation, Wolfwood instinctively moved silently in the darkness towards them.

Sure enough, as she altered her step to go around them, they began following her, and one said, "Hey girl, we need some dough, can you help us out?"

"Sorry," she muttered, and then they surrounded her. Just as she was about to panic and let 911 know about her predicament, a tall figure appeared behind the thug directly in front of her.

"These guys bothering you, miss?" a low voice asked calmly. The smell of cigarettes entered the air as Wolfwood casually lit a smoke in the blackness.

The gang turned to face her good Samaritan, and he stepped out of the shadows to confront them.

Before the youths could retort, the figure asked her again, "They bothering you?"

"I just want to get to my car," Milly said hesitantly. She wasn't sure if she should be thankful for his intervention or not. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation, that in this day and age would probably result in both of them shot or worse.

The man looked hard at each of the three would-be assailants in turn and said, "I'm going to escort this lady to her car. If you choose to follow, I can't be responsible for what happens to you."

Something menacing and true sounded in his tone, and without a word the kids melted away into the night.

Genuinely surprised by the success of his threat, Milly regarded her hero more closely.

He was tall, about 6'3", and had shaggy black hair. He wore a dark suit (probably black as well, but it was difficult to tell in the night) and a white shirt with a wide collar. It had a 70s look to it, _kind of mod_, Milly thought, and it was unbuttoned to show a broad expanse of chest that was muscled like a bodybuilder's. _Ah_, she thought, _that must be why that threat worked. _ _He looks like he could kick their butts easily_. At least as long as guns weren't involved.

She looked up into his face, which was angular and thin and in need of a shave, but nonetheless undeniably handsome. His scruffiness had an appeal to it and as her eyes met his, she was more than a little embarrassed to realize he had been patiently waiting for her to finish her appraisal. He took another drag on his cigarette as she looked away from his amused expression and said, "Thank you," quietly.

"My pleasure," he responded. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Um," she was confused for a moment, still blushing and feeling a delayed wave of relief at surviving the tense situation. She felt weak, and it was an alien feeling to her.

"To your car? Those kids left but we probably shouldn't hang around here or we might have to introduce ourselves to more of them."

"Oh yes, yes. I…I mean, if you hadn't been around…." her voice trailed off. Shaking off the thought of the potential fates she had narrowly avoided, she resumed walking.

"One sec," her savior called, as he strode over to a streetlamp and grabbed a large cross that had been leaning against it, then quickly reappeared at her side.

More confused than ever, Milly started walking and the tall man kept pace with her easily, despite the large crucifix he was toting. She looked at it out of the corner of her eye. _Must be some kind of artwork,_ she thought at first. _Or maybe he's some lunatic who thinks the world is coming to an end and this is his prop_. Just her luck, having the knight in shining armor be a reject from the funny farm. Well, maybe not. Maybe he had a reason for it, whatever it was. She desperately tried to think of a way to ask him, and finally decided it would be rude.

Wolfwood had completed his evaluation of the young woman a bit more discreetly than she had assessed him, but he was no less aware of her as he followed her along the sidewalk. She was about 5'9", with medium-length hair that he could only think of as golden--not quite blonde, not quite brown. It was as shaggy as his own, falling in layers over her face as she walked. It was hard to tell much more about her looks underneath her baggy clothing, but her face had seemed kind and tired. He decided she probably was pretty when she wasn't being harassed by strange men in the middle of the night.

As they walked, the sound of their footsteps hit the pavement in a comfortable rhythm, and Milly found herself feeling more relaxed, and of course, secure, than she had in ages in this part of town. Nutjob or not, this guy had rescued her in a sense, and he seemed nice enough. He was tough, it was evident in his gait, his stature, and his voice. That could also mean he was dangerous. She decided she was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. And she instinctively liked him.

"Why are you in this area so late?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"I work pretty long hours," she answered. "Usually 12 hour days. I don't really have a choice, but I do hate walking to my car at night in the neighborhood. I truly appreciate your help." Then she thought of a way to find out more about him.

"Do you work here? I'm lucky you were out so late as well," she said.

He halted mid-stride and for a minute she thought she had either offended him or he was about to become a new threat. But he stuck out his hand and said, "Nicholas D. Wolfwood, sorry I didn't introduce myself before."

"Nice to meet you," she said, letting out her held breath and taking his hand. His grip was not gentle. His fingers surrounded hers firmly and his touch was dry and cool. There was a tensile strength she sensed almost coiled or simmering under his skin, and she silently laughed at herself as she realized she was tingling from his touch as she withdrew from the handshake.

Wolfwood had felt the tingle as well, but dismissed it as the result of the first human touch he had experienced since he woke up that morning. He stood looking at her with a question in his face, an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, god, sorry, I'm totally forgetting my manners," she stammered. "I'm Camilla. My friends call me Milly."

A shadow crossed his face and for a moment he looked terribly sad, but the expression was gone almost before she could confirm it was there.

"Nice to meet you as well, Milly." he said softly, and started walking again. _Unbelievable_, he thought. _This was some coincidence._ The name confirmed an intangible similarity he had recognized but not named earlier. She did remind him of his Milly in some way. Disturbed, he began to deliberately halt his earlier mental attempts to figure out where he was and what he was doing there. All of a sudden, he was afraid of the answer.

Feeling more confident, she asked, "So what's with the cross?"

"It's a tool of the trade," Wolfwood answered.

"Are you an artist or street performer?" she asked, not sure what he meant.

"Not at all," he said. "I'm a priest."

She was stunned for a moment and she tried to ignore the small ball of disappointment she felt in her stomach. _Come on_, she thought, _you knew there had to be something wrong with him._

"Oh, you're a priest," she echoed stupidly.

"Yes." he said simply. Sensing the need to elaborate, he said, "I don't really have a church anymore, but I used to run an orphanage. That's why I hate seeing kids like those back there," he tossed his head behind him, "they seem so lost."

Surprised by his empathy for the gang members, she asked "What are you doing here?" before she could help herself.

He was silent for a few moments before he answered. "I'm not sure…" he replied, "I really don't know how I wound up here today."

Milly didn't quite know how to respond to that, and she slowed her pace as they approached her little green car, looking lonely in the empty parking lot.

"This must be you," Wolfwood said cheerily, his tone an attempt to put her at ease. He had been so lost in his reverie he hadn't considered her stress and uneasiness at being with another stranger in the middle of the night. He had given himself the responsibility to make her forget her bad experience, and he wasn't sure why.

"Father Wolfwood--" she began.

"Oh no, no," he smiled, "it can be Nicholas or Nick or Wolfwood if you prefer."

Milly smiled back. "OK, which do you prefer?"

He seemed to seriously mull it over, looking directly into her eyes. _Too dark to see if she has the same color eyes_, he thought to himself. "You know, tell me which you prefer and then I'll tell you which I prefer."

Was this unlikely priest flirting with her? She was bemused and encouraged by his easy response and so she asked, "What's the "D" for?"

He smiled, "Definitelynevergonnaquitsmoking" he said in one breath.

She grinned. "Well, that won't work. How about Nicholas then? That's what I prefer."

His eyes lit up and the corners wrinkled slightly. She noticed under the security lights that they were a deep dark blue. "That's perfect," he said, "no one calls me Nicholas." He had been afraid for just a moment that she would call him "Mr. Priest." If she had, he would have lost it. He was elated without explanation, and felt better than he had all day.

"Then I should call you Nick?" she asked, unsure if he was joking or not.

"No, that's the point," he laughed. "Everyone calls me Nick or Wolfwood. I want _you _to call me Nicholas."

"Well, Nicholas," Milly said, thinking quickly and deciding she didn't care if she was being stupid, "do you need a ride somewhere? That cross looks horribly heavy and I do owe you one."

"Well, Milly," he said, imitating her light tone, but cringing a little inside as he said her name, "I would like to take you up on that. Where are you headed?"

"Springfield," she said automatically. Her paranoia immediately chastised her for revealing the location of her home.

"That's where I'm heading too," he said. "Why don't you just drop me off somewhere convenient there then?"

"Sure thing," she replied, opening the door and watching him load his mammoth crucifix into her backseat.


	2. Chapter 2

Milly turned on the radio without thinking and then regretted it instantly. It would be harder to have a conversation with Nicholas with it on, and she wanted to learn more about this stranger. But too late now. She compromised by turning the volume lower as she reversed and headed out of the parking lot.

As they headed out towards the bridge, Wolfwood said, "I've never been to this town before," hoping she would offer some information that might give him a clue as to how and why he was there.

"That's normal," Milly replied. "Lots of people live around here their whole lives and don't go downtown or into the city. But I think they're missing out. Look how beautiful the bridge looks, all lit up."

Wolfwood looked. The lights shone on the river as they drove across the white expanse, illuminating the black waters with an ethereal contrast. "Yes," he agreed, "it's magnificent." "Where are you from?" Milly asked, glad they were finally having a normal conversation where she might learn something about him. "I've lived on the east coast as long as I can remember."

Normal question, Wolfwood thought. How to answer? He didn't know why, but he didn't want to tell this girl the truth, at least, not all of it. His instincts told him that something was horribly wrong and he was beginning to think that he was never going to get back to Tonim Town again.

"I'm from out west. Sometimes," he said, smiling, "when I'm here I feel like I'm on another planet."

"Yeah, it's pretty different, that's for sure. Where out west? California?" Somehow he didn't look very California to her.

"How'd you guess?" he asked.

"That's nice, I have never been, but it's supposed to be lovely," Milly said, making a mental check. _OK! Origin: California. Occupation: Priest. Hobbies: Saving strangers. Flaws: Carries big cross everywhere. Now what do I ask him?_

She glanced over at him, unsure of what to say next. The priest seemed lost in thought, and almost unaware of her presence. She remembered that look that had passed across his face when she told him her name, and wondered again if she had imagined it.

Wolfwood was also trying to think of something else to say. _Didn't learn much there. _California sounded vaguely familiar but he knew he had never been there and didn't think it was a place on Gunsmoke. _Maybe a place in a book…or a fairy tale._

Wolfwood was aware that the girl felt uncomfortable since asking him if he needed a lift, probably regretting it, but he was grateful for her offer. However, now that they were heading to Springfield, wherever that was, he realized he really had no plan at all about what to do when they got there. He had nowhere to stay, and had simply accepted the ride impulsively. Maybe he wanted to spend more time with her--maybe it was that she seemed to be a link in the puzzle of why he was in this strange place. _Seems to be a different planet, different world, not just different town. _ As he allowed his thoughts to drift, the music on the radio lulled him gently. Closing his eyes, he listened to the words…

It was a beautiful song…sounded like a hymn from a church. There were the gentle sounds of a pipe organ. "Lights will guide you home…" sang the radio, and Wolfwood felt a small lump in his throat, wondering if he would ever make it back to his home, his friends.

"Nicholas…" The soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts and he sat up, eyes wide open.

"Sorry, guess I almost dozed there for a minute," he said, trying to shake off the emotion he felt threaten to overwhelm him. When she didn't respond, he thought perhaps the silence was making her uncomfortable.

"What is the name of this song?" he asked.

Milly pursed her lips together and turned up the radio to hear it better…

"I'm not sure, do you like it?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I guess so…" he responded lightly, not wanting to explain how he had been affected by the music.

Milly felt suddenly irritated and punched the preset buttons on the radio, rapidly.

"Sorry," Wolfwood apologized again. "You didn't have to change it."

Milly looked over at him, ready to be exasperated, and quickly put her eyes back on the road. She had forgotten how good-looking he was. She sighed and pushed another preset. Heavy metal. _Good, let him hear some of this, _she thought. Probably there aren't many priests that like this music. _Too bad they weren't playing anything blasphemous_, she thought evilly. She felt a stab of viciousness--_why did he have to be a priest, for chrissakes._ Her friends always said the hottest guys were gay, she now has to add "or priests" to that. _Maybe he is a priest **and **gay, _she thought, bringing a small smile to her lips.

The car rolled down the highway and what had started as a companionable silence began to feel awkward, for both of them. Wolfwood leaned over and hit the presets until he found the first song again and turned the volume up even higher in the car.

He looked at the radio, taken by the simple rhymes that seemed to speak a truth directly to him. He said, "Milly," softly, to get her attention. She didn't hear him over the music, her eyes glued straight ahead along the darkened roadway.

Reaching over, he touched her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and he said, "You really don't know the name of this song?" She knew perfectly well, but for some reason wanted to deny him her knowledge. She shrugged and stayed focused on driving. Wolfwood turned the radio down and settled back into the seat. He closed his eyes again. He could sense she was annoyed, at him (_maybe she doesn't like people from California?_) or at the situation he wasn't sure, so maybe he should just leave her alone. Feeling irritated himself, and perplexed by her moodiness, he decided to stay silent.

_Why am I acting this way? _Milly thought to herself. _I like him, he's been so nice, I'm the worst "rescuee" ever,_ she thought. She opened her mouth to apologize and looked over at the priest, only to find he had fallen asleep, for real this time.

His mouth was slightly parted as his white shirt lapels rose and fell with each breath. His arms hung languidly off the seat, his head had fallen to his shoulder, and he looked as if he hadn't rested in days. _Great, just wonderful, _Milly thought. _He falls asleep before he even tells me where I'm taking him. And he looks so, so **good **dammit._

A few minutes later she pulled off the highway to her exit. Wolfwood awoke with the sharp turn of the car but kept his eyes closed, not wanting to invite more of her questions.

_Well, _Milly thought, _now what? _She hit the first red light and took the minute to evaluate the situation. A nice priest from California had helped her out and she was acting like an ungrateful brat, that was the bottom line. He was obviously exhausted, falling asleep on the short ride to her town, and looked as if he could use a good meal. _Oh no you don't_, her subconscious warned her, _don't you dare invite him home for dinner. It's almost midnight and you have to work in the morning. And he could still turn out to be a wacko. _ Didn't her dad always say California was the land of "Fruits and Nuts?" _Ha! he probably is a gay priest, _she internally exclaimed, deciding her earlier guess was the obvious truth. _No normal priest would have a body like that._

If she hadn't been inexplicably rude before, she might have listened to her common sense, but now Milly felt like she had to make up for the mental transgressions that Wolfwood was completely unaware of. So rather than waking him, she turned into her own parking lot and turned off the car.

Wolfwood was still feigning sleep, curious as to where they were and what his new acquaintance had in mind. Expecting her to speak at any moment, he concentrated on keeping his breathing regular.

Instead of the voice he was waiting for, a soft hand touched his sleeve. "Nicholas?"

His arm felt warm inside the jacket where her hand lay, and he didn't move, enjoying the sensation. "Nicholas?" a little louder, a bit of a shake this time.

_OK, _Wolfwood thought_, got to "wake up" now._

"Good morning," he said, giving her what he hoped was his most disarming-don't-ask-me-any-questions-please smile.

She looked a little concerned. "Are you OK?"

"Absolutely," Wolfwood said, forcing energy he didn't feel into his voice. "Where have we landed?"

Opening her car door, Milly let the words come out in a rush--"This is my house. You seem sleepy. And I think sleepy people are often also hungry and you seemed so tired I didn't want to wake you up and so I figured that maybe you would want to eat" _Oh god I'm totally babbling _Milly realized, "and so I thought I could feed you some dinner before taking you home if you want if that is OK?" she finished lamely.

_What a sweetheart_, Wolfwood thought, realizing the total trust (or naïveté) this girl must have placed in him to take him here. And he was grateful. He didn't know what to say or how to thank her.

"That sounds amazing," he said, getting out of the car, "Thank you."

She smiled and started to lock the doors but he stopped her, "Wait, let me grab my baggage," he said, opening the back door and taking out the cross.

"Um, you could just leave it here," Milly said, thinking she had allowed herself to forget his weirdo qualities for a little too long but nothing to be done about it now.

"Nah," he said, hoisting it over his shoulder, "never know when someone is going to want to grab themselves a nice big crucifix and I wouldn't want your car window to get busted." He turned, looking at her with a twinkle in his eye, and she realized with relief that he was joking.

"Well, of course, there is that," she smiled at him, walking up to the front door.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why don't you relax while I make us some food?" Milly said after they had walked in the small foyer. "The sofa is over there, and the remote is on the coffee table if you want to watch TV." So saying, she headed into her little kitchen. Wolfwood started to follow her but then decided the prudent thing to do would be to avoid her and thus avoid conversation. He couldn't do it forever, but he thought postponing the inevitable wasn't a bad idea. Dinner sounded good.

Sinking into the comfy sofa, he looked around the place. It was definitely small and modest but what some people would call "cozy," he thought. He wanted to get up to look around, get some clue about this kind-hearted woman who seemed so strong yet frail at the same time. Unfortunately, his legs had other ideas, and he found he couldn't find the energy to move now that he was settled into the thick cushions.

In the kitchen, Milly whirled around looking for something quick and easy to make for the two of them, still mentally berating herself for bringing him home, and hoping she wouldn't regret it. Spaghetti is easy. "Nicholas, do you like pasta?" she called into the living room.

"My favorite," Wolfwood called back, then decided _to hell with avoidance_, and got off the couch and joined Milly in the kitchen. He had managed to keep his past a secret from Vash and the girls for a long time, surely he could dodge a few standard questions from a tired businesswoman. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Sure," Milly replied, handing him a can of tomato paste. "Spice rack is over there. Dump this into a pot and go nuts."

Wolfwood obliged, unsure of exactly what some of the ingredients were, but figured that more is better. Taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves, he added dashes and bits of anything that smelled good to the sauce. To thwart any inquiries, he asked Milly a steady stream of questions about her home, job, background, and didn't leave any time for her own queries. Years in his profession made you good at manipulation, and Wolfwood relaxed as he realized this woman was no threat to him or his secrets. He also noticed in the bright lights of the kitchen that she was even more pretty than he had thought in the dim illumination of the streetlamps. Distracted, he didn't listen to half of the words she was saying as he shook spices and stirred the sauce.

Fifteen minutes later, they sat down to steaming bowls of spaghetti. Milly almost choked on her first taste of the food, but managed to swallow it. Wolfwood did the same, realizing with embarrassment that he had ruined the pasta with his random and preoccupied seasoning. He started laughing, and Milly joined in. "Well, I'm starving," he said, "so I'll be eating this anyway!"

"No you don't," said Milly, swiping his bowl away mid-bite, "that's OK, I've got some other stuff we can eat." She took the bowls and tossed their contents into the trash. Going to the fridge, she found some vanilla pudding and frozen pizza. Throwing the pizza in the microwave, she dished out the pudding. A dusty bottle of French merlot, and they enjoyed a bizarre feast that reminded Milly of her college days. She nuked a bag of buttered popcorn for dessert, and they sat contentedly munching in silence and sipping their wine.

"Nicholas," Milly started after the popcorn was gone, "Why did you become a priest?"

"Hmm, that's a hell of a good question," Wolfwood said, lighting a cigarette. Milly couldn't bear to ask him to put it out although she never let people smoke in the house. She gritted her teeth and smiled instead.

"I'm an orphan. The man who took me in when I had no one else was a priest, of sorts. He taught me how to rely on myself, how to be independent. I guess you could say he made me what I am today," Wolfwood continued dryly. "I thought if I followed his footsteps, I could help other children avoid what I had been through. So I entered the order and started an orphanage."

"Where is the orphanage?"

Without thinking, he replied, "A few iles from December."

"December? Is that in California?" asked Milly, noting the weird accent he placed on the word "miles".

"Um," Wolfwood paused. Did he really want to tell her the truth? No, but he didn't want to reward her kindness with a lie either. _But December was a big city--one of the biggest. How could she not have heard of it?_ "Have you never been to December?" deciding to answer the question with a question.

"No…" Milly didn't know why but she sensed Nicholas was avoiding the question. She searched for a way to probe further and came up empty. "What are you doing out this way?" She glanced at the clock and noticed it was almost 2 AM.

Wolfwood saw the glance and decided he should probably make his exit. A girl like this one wasn't going to offer her couch to a stranger for the night, and he thought after her ordeal the last thing she would want was a man hanging around. Getting up from the table, he stretched lazily, oblivious to Milly's wide eyes taking in his strong chest straining against his shirt. "I've really enjoyed this, Milly, and I truly appreciate your kindness," he said, relaxing his arms back down. "But I think I've kept you from your rest long enough."

Milly felt a little stab of panic at him leaving, not noticing that he had not answered her question. Somehow the night didn't feel over to her. She wanted him to stay but knew it was a ridiculous thought. Helpless, she said, "Let me just grab my keys…"

"No, I can walk from here," Wolfwood answered, "it's not far," not knowing exactly why he was lying, but unable to stop himself.

Milly was disappointed, but a realist. She couldn't exactly ask a stranger to spend the night, even if he was a priest. "It might not be safe…" she began.

"I'll be fine," Wolfwood said, and for a minute Milly heard that hard and tough tone in his voice again. It scared her--she had forgotten how threatening he had sounded when confronting the gang earlier and something in those three words made her not so sad he was leaving.

Shrugging into his jacket, Wolfwood walked over to the door, picking up his Punisher and slinging it over his shoulder. Milly had followed him to the door and reluctantly opened it, feeling confused and unhappy, but unsure why.

Pausing on the threshold, Wolfwood turned around looked into Milly's eyes. In this light, he could see them. Hazel, just like _hers_. There were so many similarities. She was beautiful--strong like his Milly and a little silly like his Milly. He automatically shut off that thought because he was afraid of where it would lead. He held her gaze for a moment and was surprised to see his own loneliness and confusion reflected there. Unable to fathom what it meant, what she wanted from him, he said softly, "You remind me of someone very special to me…" and before she could respond, he quickly and gently pressed his lips to her forehead and shut the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Wolfwood walked down the concrete staircase and headed quickly up the road. If he was lucky, he might find an all-night café or bar where he could hole up for a few hours until dawn. Lighting up a cigarette, he walked through the darkness up the winding street.

Turning right onto the main road, the priest allowed his thoughts to wander. Where was this? What was happening to him? He inhaled deeply, glad that at least the smoke in his lungs was familiar, unlike everything else in this strange place.

_Damn, maybe I shouldn't have left. Well, what else could I do? Women like that don't invite strangers to spend the night, _he thought, and it wasn't fair to think about _her _like that, when the memory of _his _Milly was so fresh in his mind. Their last night together had been more than he had ever hoped for. _And God, well, God understood about these things, _he was sure. He had needed her. And he knew she had needed him just as much. Damn, it hurt just to think about her. Where the hell was she? Was she worried about him? If Vash had left them to track Knives on some quest whose purpose he had forgotten long ago, Wolfwood would never forgive him. Dammit Vash, why? Forget Vash for a minute, why had his God ripped him away from everything he cared about, where he could make a difference, when he was ABOUT to make a difference, Wolfwood amended, because he had been infected by Needle Noggin's philosophy. There was a better way. There would always be a solution now. He was sure of it. _So why do this to me now, God? Why?_

Almost as if in response to his silent query, Wolfwood found himself standing in front of a church. The cross on the steeple was the opposite of comforting. A chill Wolfwood couldn't explain crept up his spine, and he suddenly felt the urge to run away. He couldn't face his God after the things he had done. He also was experiencing an odd sense of déjà vu, and didn't like the sensation.

Shaking off the feeling, he found himself wanting to enter the building regardless, needing to have a one-on-one with the Big Guy. It had been a long time. Too long, especially for someone of his vocation. Taking a final drag on his cigarette and exhaling slowly, he let it drop to the ground as he pulled open the heavy carved wooden door.

His footsteps echoed on the polished floor as he walked down the aisle in the center of the nave. He set down the punisher against a pew--it had become too heavy to carry for the second time that day. He wondered how it could be, and decided it was probably the least strange of all the strange things that had happened that day.

Walking further up, he entered an apse with an unmarked marble altar. Red candles flickered in the darkness around the white cloth covering over the rectangular edifice. A poor box with a small sign reminding the penitent to leave "50 cents per candle" glowed in the dim light along the side. Weighed down with a million unconfessed sins and a host of sorrows he could not have verbalized, Wolfwood sagged against the railing, allowing his body to land heavily on the cushioned kneeler lining the altar.

Countless transgressions against his faith filled his mind, not the least of which was his murder of Zazie the Beast, which was so recent and still tormented his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he could only see the sorrow of his friends. _Please, _he thought, _please understand, I didn't have a choice…please don't judge me by that…_

A sinister sensation crept into his consciousness and Wolfwood's eyes snapped open, immediately forgetting his silent prayer. Someone was approaching. He felt it.

Damn, he had left the punisher back in the main aisle. His eyes wide to counteract the blindness of the dark church, he spun around quickly, moving instinctively to a lower vantage point in case he had already been spotted. And yes, yes he had.

Chapel the Evergreen, his Gung Ho Guns mentor, protector, sponsor, guardian, and surrogate father, walked silently down the center aisle towards him. His feet made no sound on the hard floor, the absence of an echo disconcerting in the empty house of worship.

Wolfwood clenched his hands helplessly, and stood up to face him.

Chapel looked the same as always, his red eye implants glowing menacingly in the blackness. The only thing Wolfwood thought unusual was the absence of the apple Chapel always used to test his reflexes. It was gone. Where, he wasn't sure…he almost felt as if he should know, as if he was responsible, but couldn't quite remember why that would be so.

Chapel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, allowing himself a small smile at seeing his old apprentice.

Wolfwood broke the silence. "What the hell are you doing here! Come to tell me I'm not ready yet? Come to criticize me?"

Chapel said nothing.

"Well," Wolfwood said, his voice steadily rising in volume, "I don't give a damn! I'm not one of you! I never was, but now I know for sure. You can tell Knives to go to hell! I'm not going to do it! I refuse! I don't believe in him anymore, don't believe in what you are, what you stand for, anything you taught me. It's all BULLSHIT!"

His last word echoed obscenely in the cavernous church, ringing off the walls. Still Chapel said nothing.

Infuriated by his fellow priest's silence, Wolfwood ran at him, not sure what he intended to do, only knowing he couldn't follow in this man's footsteps, no matter how much he had learned, no matter how much he owed him, he was no longer one of _them_.

Chapel the Evergreen stared unblinking at his pupil's advance, and then at the last moment, stepped aside, grabbing Wolfwood by the lapels, and saying softly, "Don't hesitate, Nicholas. How many times did I tell you not to hesitate?"

"Why are you here?" Wolfwood asked in an equally low tone, unaware that he had undergone a similar exchange only 24 hours prior.

"You really don't know, do you?" asked Chapel, tilting his head to the side. "I'm afraid if you haven't figured it out, this isn't going to be easy for you."

"Easy!" Wolfwood almost yelled. "What the hell has ever been easy? Have you ever asked anything easy of me? Ever since you took me in, everything has been one test after another. Have I ever passed? Have I ever lived up to your expectations?"

The boy whose world had been shattered by a single bullet so many years ago was still evident in the words of the tormented man. He was still seeking validation, still unsure of himself, and still wanting to prove that he didn't need anyone else, didn't need help. But he still sought acceptance, still wanted the approval of his peers, hell, his superiors. And he was petrified--had he traded in the insight and tutelage of one misguided mentor for another? Was he now following another unholy doctrine--that of Vash the Stampede? He thought he believed in Vash--in what he stood for, but in an instant he had made himself question it, unsure as always, and afraid.

"Nicholas," Chapel said, and put a comforting hand on Wolfwood's left shoulder. And that word, hearing his name so tenderly from his typically stoic teacher's lips, was the verbal equivalent of an icicle in Wolfwood's heart. Everything he had been denying to himself, every feeling he had sensed in this strange place, that he had tried ignoring, came rushing back in a tidal wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Wha-" Wolfwood stammered.

"Nicholas," Chapel said again, then with a pause--"I'm so very sorry."

Images overwhelmed his senses, his brain couldn't process them quickly enough. But all of a sudden he saw it all--facing off with Vash, fighting Chapel, fire, explosions, dodging bullets, the empty street, watching his guardian fall to his knees, lowering his gun. And at long last claiming the elusive apple, the sticky taste, the sweet juice on his fingers, his revelation, his LIFE dammit, his life…turning around, hearing the groan of the vanquished, spinning around a second too late, and a shot. Then silence.

Then Wolfwood understood. He looked up at Chapel with complete and absolute comprehension.

"I'm dead."

It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, Nicholas," Chapel said, not without feeling, "you are."

"But--" a million questions flooded Wolfwood's mind. However he just as quickly realized the futility of asking. What could matter now? Wasn't this the end? The end of everything?


	5. Chapter 5

Wolfwood stood speechless in the dark church. He was dead. Somehow he had known, and although the shock was there, he found himself unsurprised. The memories that had come rushing back were more than enough evidence, even before Chapel the Evergreen had confirmed the fact plainly.

Although Chapel had never been particularly kind to him, Wolfwood sensed an empathy and looked to the older man for an explanation, for answers that he wasn't sure existed.

Seeing his student's confusion, and unsure how to begin, Chapel said "I'm just like you."

Misinterpreting the statement, Wolfwood growled back at him, "You are NOTHING like me." He glared fiercely into the two red eyes. Then it hit him-- "You mean, you…also?"

"Yes."

Wolfwood knew the penalty for failure was death for a Gung Ho Gun. Hadn't he himself been responsible for serving out that punishment more than once? But Chapel hadn't gone up against Vash, he had gone up against _him_. And succeeded. So what was he doing here?

"You shot me," Wolfwood said, somehow unable to use the word "killed." "You're the reason I'm here." No emotion showed in the young priest's voice.

"Let me explain, at least what I know," Chapel said, sitting down in a pew. "First of all, I know it does not change anything, but…" he struggled to make the words come. "I did not mean…it was not my intention at that time…"

"It was Legato," Wolfwood interrupted. "That blue haired bastard. I know. I could tell. But don't look to me for absolution. You were trying to kill me. Murder me. Up until that point. I remember that," he finished coldly.

"Yes," said Chapel, trying to match Wolfwood's tone but unable to sound as detached. He admired his pupil, thinking that even now Wolfwood was able to stay calm and composed, distant and calculating, even when contemplating his own death.

"I went after Legato. I waited for him to return to Knives. It was not the smartest thing perhaps, but it was what I felt I had to do. I owed it to you. Hate me if you want, but I never hated you, Nicholas. Legato knew that and he meant to make me suffer through your murder. I wanted to make him suffer also."

"It's not my fault you went to your death," Wolfwood said incredulously. "Only a fool would confront Legato, especially with Knives around. You're no match for them."

"You are right. In fact, Knives said almost the same thing. He claimed I was seeking death. To escape further pain. I guess he was right…although that was not my thinking at the time, he was right."

"He tortured you?" Wolfwood asked, some of the impassiveness seeping out of his voice.

"He sent me here," Chapel said, not wishing to explain the circumstances surrounding his own murder. "I do not know much more than you about this place, but I have learned a little. That is what I meant when I said I was just like you…" Chapel's voice trailed off.

"So what's next? Are we in limbo? Lost souls wandering eternally in search of salvation?" Wolfwood was unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I do not think we are special in this sense. I think everyone spends some time here before moving on," said Chapel. "This is Purgatory."

"Purgatory?" Wolfwood almost laughed. "Do you honestly believe people like us get to expiate our sins?"

"Yes I do, boy," said Chapel angrily. "And you should count yourself lucky to be here and not in Hell. It means there is still hope for you."

"And you?" Wolfwood inquired, smiling at the absurdity of the exchange.

Chapel was silent and Wolfwood looked up at him. Finally, he sat down in the pew across the aisle from his old mentor. Both of them rested in the quiet, staring forward at the tall crucifix above the pristine altar.

The tormented man whose public murder was immortalized in this sanctified place was hanging nakedly in violent and graphic detail. He had died for the souls of those who killed him. He redeemed through his death. This was the God Wolfwood believed in. He believed in redemption through blood. This was the savior he had turned his back on, believing it was the right thing to do, making excuses and justifying his transgressions always with the reasoning that there was no other way. Twisting his religious knowledge to suit his own purposes--delivering his own kind of justice with tainted hands and carrying out works of mercy with a corrupt heart. Was this God going to allow a sinner such as him a chance at Paradise? _And now, _Wolfwood thought, _I've died for my sins. Just when I had thought that there really was another way--everyone could be saved._

"In fact," Chapel said finally, breaking the silence, "I am leaving. That I think is why I am being allowed to speak with you. To help, if I can."

Wolfwood wanted to tell him to fuck off, he didn't need or want his help, but he had never felt so alone in his life. The idea that someone could provide some guidance, anything, made him bite back the words.

"As far as I can tell, this place is like our world," Chapel started. "These people seem to be alive, and the only ones we recognize are already dead and probably have been here longer than you. Some are lost forever. Some still may find redemption. It would not surprise me if our planet acted as a purgatory for this one. Where people can atone and do penance for mortal transgressions. Where your faults in your old life are left behind, and where forgiveness is asked for and absolution granted."

"I know I have no right to your forgiveness," Chapel continued, looking over at Wolfwood. "But I hope you will find peace." He paused. "The quickest way to Paradise, Nicholas, is leave behind your sins. Your ties to your old life. Start with a blank slate."

"It seems a little late for that now," Wolfwood retorted, turning his head to meet Chapel's gaze. "I think the "starting over" part happens while you're still alive. It's not something God lets you do after you've screwed everything up, just so you can make it to Heaven."

"God is merciful," Chapel said quietly. "Man is not."

"I don't…" Wolfwood started a sentence that he didn't know how to finish. There were so many questions…but he still couldn't admit to himself that this was happening. Part of him knew it without a doubt, but his guts were screaming that it was wrong, he must be in a coma, dreaming, anything but this as his new reality. What he wanted to say, to scream at the top of his lungs, was complete denial. He didn't want to believe any of this, and yet he knew it was the truth, or close to it.

Chapel said nothing and waited for Wolfwood to finish his thought.

"What did you have to do?" asked Wolfwood, "I mean, how can a bastard like you be done? When I've already been here longer and you get to be the enlightened one?"

"I said I was leaving," said Chapel calmly. "I did not say I had found salvation."

Stunned, Wolfwood felt a bolt of fear in his chest. "But then…what? What do I do?" the words spilled out and an anguished cry came from his mouth. His panicked thoughts were so convoluted he couldn't voice them.

Chapel stood up and walked over to the Punisher. "I believe it is not too late for you. The ending of my story was written long ago and filled with unforgivable deeds and inexcusable actions. Among the demons I have courted throughout my wasted life have been rage, despair, violence, and…corruption of the innocent." He looked meaningfully at Wolfwood and smiled his cryptic smile, the one that looked so alien because it never extended to his robotic eyes.

"Ask for help, Nicholas--you always try to go it alone," Chapel said at last. "And I will be taking this," he indicated the Punisher. "You do not need it anymore, but someone else does. And you must let go of the past. The ending is not yet written for you."

Chapel slung the Punisher on his back and began silently walking up the aisle.

"Wait," Wolfwood said, jogging up to meet him. Chapel turned around and stopped.

"How do you _know_?" he pleaded, desperation finally present in his voice. "That your eternity will be…?" he paused. "Hell," he finished in a low breath. "Why were you here?"

"I had a guide," Chapel said, "as I am sure you do as well."

"Some guide, if you wind up on the road to perdition," Wolfwood said sadly, suddenly sorry for the old man.

Chapel shook his head slightly, and said, "They are psychopomps--guides for our souls into the afterlife. It eases the transition…Something familiar to make it a bit less scary, or a bit more real. That is all. They do not absolve or save you…" He turned around again to leave and Wolfwood put a hand on his shoulder.

"Chapel," he said…meaning to thank him, or forgive him, something, but nothing came out.

"Thank you," Chapel responded gravely to the unspoken pardon, and he exited the church into the pale sky of early dawn. Wolfwood saw his Punisher swinging slightly against Chapel's back before the heavy wooden door solidly shut, leaving him once more alone in the house of worship.


	6. Chapter 6

****

A/N: I've resisted writing these notes because I didn't want to interfere with the flow of the story, but I wanted to thank my readers and especially those who have left reviews and encouragement and added me to their fave & alert lists. I hope you enjoy this rather fluffy chapter before we return to the handsome priest in the church. You keep reading, I'll keep writing. There is a ways to go on this one, but trust me, I know where we're heading, and I am looking forward to taking you with me.

_Nicholas D. Wolfwood. _ Milly thought the name to herself for the hundredth time that night. _Who WAS that guy? _He had waltzed into her world like a knight come to rescue her, and then disappeared with a kiss on the forehead. That was _not _how the fairy tale was supposed to end.

She couldn't sleep. She couldn't think straight. She had been stuck in a rut, in a boring routine, and suddenly she felt like everything had changed. He had left three hours ago and she still was tossing and turning, not tired in the least. She felt confused, exhilarated, and frustrated in equal measure. Her second oldest big sister had told her about this kind of reaction. "Someday, Milly, you're gonna meet a guy who makes you stupid and giddy!" she had teased after telling her baby sister about her own engagement.

_Is this it?_ She did feel giddy. And stupid. Mainly stupid. Stupid for not doing something. Doing _what _she had no idea. _What could I do? _A priest was about the least seducible person she could think of. And this guy was special, different, sexy in such a non-priest-like way. _Damn_. She realized, half with amusement, half with alarm, that she had bona fide butterflies in her stomach when she recalled the way he looked, smiling, stretching, sleeping…

"AAAAAAAAAAAH" she wailed comically, pushing away the thoughts which followed, and giggling, rolled out of bed. Her feet hit the floor with a smack and she felt energized and simply wonderful despite the fact she hadn't slept and had been exhausted when she left work hours ago.

One of the benefits of living alone is you don't bother anyone if you decide to turn on all the lights and crank the stereo at five o'clock in the morning. Milly took advantage of this fact. She raced from the bedroom, into the kitchen, looking with ridiculous fondness at the dirty plates in the sink. There it was, proof. It wasn't a dream. He had been real. He had been here. _Nicholas D. Wolfwood_, she thought again, the name like a mantra in her head. She sighed at her own absurdity and perched on a kitchen chair. _OK, Milly_, she thought, _you may have got a horrid awful crush on a priest…what if it's just because he saved me? Isn't there a syndrome for this, a name they call it? What if it isn't real? _She mentally shrugged off the thought. Of course that was it--nothing making her feel this elated could be real. But she could still enjoy it.

Sighing dramatically, _it's lust_, she thought, and then felt horrified at the admission. _I'm going to HELL, _she decided, mentally capitalizing her presumed punishment, but even the blasphemy of her less-than-holy desires left her happiness undimmed.

Getting up from the table, she danced around some more. She headed over to the stereo and threw in a new CD. The one with that song he seemed to like in the car. _Why was I so mean to him then? _ she agonized. _If I had been nicer maybe he would have stayed. At least stayed longer. And I'll probably never see him again…_this final thought was the first to pierce through the euphoria that had put a tightness in her chest and made her stomach do flip-flops. She abruptly stopped her waltzing and leaned heavily against the wall. _I will never see him again…_the song's sad strains reflected her abrupt change of mood.

Milly didn't keep a journal, and she did not have any close friends she could comfortably call in the wee hours before dawn. But she was an avid letter writer. She wrote to her entire family every weekend, one to her sisters, one to each brother, one to mom and dad, and one to the nieces, and one for each nephew. She was consumed with the need to transmit her recent experience to someone, as if by writing it down it would make it permanent. And so she grabbed some stationery and started a note to that second oldest big sister--the ones whose words of wisdom seemed so on target with how she felt at this moment.

Scribbling with a frenzy, she started off with the mess that was her workday, and when she got to the entrance of one handsome priest/rescuer named Nicholas D. Wolfwood, she found she couldn't write anymore. She put down the pen and looked blankly at the paper. What could she write? _"So sis, I met this priest who threatened these guys and he was a stranger but I offered him a ride and then took him to my place and made him dinner."_ Her responsible and most practical big sister would be aghast, and perhaps on the next flight down to shake some sense into her in person. Thinking about it, the facts didn't necessarily fit the way she felt right now. She hadn't been very smart this evening, had she?

She had put this stranger on a pedestal and it was probably just as well that she was never going to see him again. _It's dangerous to idealize people,_ Milly told herself sensibly, _and he was definitely a man with secrets._ She knew nothing about him. She had realized that he was avoiding her questions about himself and she had dismissed it because she didn't _want_ to notice. She wanted him to be that knight--perfect and above reproach. _Can't get much more knightly than a priest_, she sighed to herself. _Gallant. Untouchable. Chaste! _And gone.

No matter how stupid her behavior had been, she couldn't deny how she felt--how _he _had made her feel. He was so nice. Funny, and charming, and ………

She collapsed into her sofa and buried her face in the pillows. Not sure if she should laugh or cry, she lay there a minute, and then she smelled the faintest hint of smoke in the fabric. _Yuck_, part of her thought, but she also inhaled deeply and closed her eyes at the scent. "It smells like him," she whispered into the cloth, and finally fell asleep to sweet dreams beneath a mound of pillows in a blazingly bright apartment with the stereo blaring.


	7. Chapter 7

Slumped into a pew, Wolfwood contemplated the altar again, the crucifix hanging above it, and closed his eyes. He meant to complete the prayer he had begun before Chapel had shattered his thoughts. He thought about his old life, and he thought about Milly. He remembered his hope for an Eden, a paradise where he could live with the woman he loved and his friends. It hurt to think about it now. Sleep crept up his body, softening his muscles, relieving the tension in his bones. The slight loss of equilibrium that precedes unconsciousness swept over him. _Do dead men dream? _he wondered to himself, and almost instantly, he was asleep.

The creaking of the heavy door startled him from his rest, and years on the move allowed him to remember his surroundings and circumstances with amazing clarity. He stiffened, and tensed against the new intruder into his sleeping quarters.

"Father Mac! Father Mac!" yelled a small voice, unconcerned with sacred protocols and running undaunted on holy ground. Little feet patterned out a staccato tune as the boy raced up the center aisle. Wolfwood turned around lazily, already having decided the child was not a threat.

Wolfwood had difficulty believing a child _could _be bad, he knew. It was one of the reasons Zazie's death had been so impossible to deal with. He had never killed a child before. The kid was innocent, a host. But he thought there was no other way.

A small piece of his soul had left him at the instant his bullet departed the chamber. Wolfwood protected kids, saved them, fed and clothed them, cared for them. Treated orphans as if they were his own family, because, hell, that's what they were--he grew up a son of the same streets that fathered them. They were all mothered by loss and tutored by hunger.

But when Zazie had threatened Vash, he had to act. He knew the Gung Ho Guns. Knew them intimately as one of their own. When he saw that look in Zazie's eyes, he knew the child was gone. Only the demon remained. And at that moment, Wolfwood hadn't cared. He did what he had to do…what he wanted to do. Save Vash. Nothing else had mattered. But now he wondered if that too, could have turned out differently. So much regret. Seems so pointless now.

"Father Mac….." the boy's voice failed him as he realized his mistake.

Wolfwood stayed seated, not wanting to alarm the kid, and smiled at him without realizing it. He really _did _love rugrats, dammit. It was as much a part of his personality as his dry sense of humour, and he was as helpless against children as he was against his nicotine addiction.

"Hi," Wolfwood said to the confused boy. He looked about ten but was small for his age. He had a mop of black hair stuck under a baseball cap and was dressed sloppily in too-big clothes. He was holding a portable radio and a book. He looked suspiciously at Wolfwood with eyes that seemed a little too old for his face.

"You're not Father Mac," the boy grudgingly responded. He then returned the greeting, almost as an afterthought. "Hi. What's your name?" He looked directly into Wolfwood's eyes as if trying to place him.

The priest was doing the same. He felt there was something familiar about the boy and didn't immediately answer.

"You're not homeless, are you?" the child accused. "They had to lock the church up for a while because of bums like you sleeping here! You better get lost before Father Mac comes!"

Wolfwood grinned despite the harsh tone of the kid's voice. Not answering that question (because, well, he _was _sort of homeless and he _had _been sleeping in the church), he said what he knew would get the kid's attention. "I'm a priest too," he informed him. "My name's Nicholas D. Wolfwood."

"Stupid name for a priest," said the kid. "Stupid way to introduce yourself too." Some of the distrust had left his voice but there was a remnant left. _Must be a tough kid, _thought Wolfwood. He liked him.

"Well, maybe it's a stupid name, but I gave it to you 'cause you asked. What's yours?"

Wary eyes glared at him. "Neil."

Wolfwood smiled and said nothing. He had met a hundred kids like this one and knew when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut. He could tell Neil had something on his mind so he decided to let it come on its own.

Finally, Wolfwood's smile disarmed him, and Neil grinned back. "What are you doing here so early? I had to come before school 'cause I need to ask Father Mac a question. No one is ever at the church this early but he said he would meet me but now I might be late to class and he's not here…" Again unsure of himself, Neil lowered his eyes and scuffed his feet on the floor.

"I just needed to spend some time with the Big Guy," Wolfwood answered, cocking his head towards the altar. "It's been a while since I had a one-on-one, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Neil agreed solemnly, suddenly dropping his tough guy attitude. "I guess when you're a priest you have to spend a lot of time here anyway."

"You should want to, perhaps," Wolfwood said in a quiet voice, "but you don't have to." His thoughts drifted to his church, his orphanage, the times he had gone to God accusingly, when a child's parents had been murdered, one of his friends senselessly slaughtered, all the bloodshed and he had never seen a way out except to become the thing he hated most. For them. For the kids.

"Well, maybe you can help me!" Neil said, plopping down into the pew next to Wolfwood and thrusting his book into the surprised priest's hands.

"Sure…" Wolfwood nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to. He turned over the book and saw the word _REQUIEM _boldly stamped across the front. An icy chill crept over his skin, and he shuddered involuntarily.

The boy didn't notice; he had opened the book and was flipping the pages in the missal hurriedly, leaning over Wolfwood and scrutinizing each leaf before turning to the next section.

"I've gotta learn this part…" he muttered. "It's only one line…but my Latin sucks," he looked up at the priest, "I mean stinks."

"Well, I'll help if I can. It's been a while for me," Wolfwood was still trying to shake off his bad feeling. He wasn't getting used to being dead, because he didn't feel dead. It was a really strange situation, to put it mildly, a dead man holding the text for a requiem mass in his hands. But apparently he didn't look dead yet, as this boy had accepted him as a priest unquestioningly and was thumbing through the book in his hands searching hard for whatever he needed help with.

"Aha!" squeaked Neil, stabbing a finger at the top of the page he had just discovered. "This is it!"

_Lux Aeterna_, proclaimed the flowery text. Wolfwood felt a small lump in his throat as he read the words beneath the section. He almost forgot the kid next to him when a "Hey!" jolted him out of his thoughts.

"I need to learn how to pronounce this stuff. I'm supposed to sing it tonight," Neil said.

"Sing it?" Somehow this kid didn't look like a typical choir boy to Wolfwood. He looked kind of like a punk.

"Yeah, sing it," Neil said defensively. "It makes my mom happy. And I don't mind so much. Can you help me or not?"

Wolfwood blinked his eyes a few times to clear them--they had gotten a little watery--and looked up at Neil. "Yeah, I can help you," he said, sorry he had made the kid uncomfortable. Pointing at the lyrics as he read, he began, "Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine, cum sanctis tuis in aeternum, quia pius es….now you say it with me and I'll correct you if you need it."

Starting over and reading together, the unlikely pair recited, "Lux aeterna…"

Wolfwood held up his hand, "no, no, ay-ter-na," and they continued, "luceat eis...loo-chay-at ay-ees…Domine, cum sanctis tuis…too ees..in aeternum, quia pius…pee-us not pius…es."

"Good," Wolfwood said, "now read it yourself."

Neil repeated the sentence almost flawlessly, and Wolfwood grinned at him. He hadn't used his Latin in years. Couldn't remember the last time he had, actually. "There you go," he encouraged him, "you've got it."

"Thanks Father!" the kid grinned back. "Whatever the hell, I mean heck, it means, I'll at least be able to sing it OK now."

"You should let me tell you what it means," Wolfwood said, inwardly surprised, but careful to avoid implying the kid was stupid for not knowing. "You'll sing it better for your mom if you understand the words."

"OK, I guess," said Neil.

"May eternal light shine upon them, Lord, with Your saints forever, because you are merciful." Wolfwood just managed to keep his voice steady, but couldn't stop his eyes from blurring up again.

" Who are 'them'?" asked Neil.

"It's a requiem mass," answered Wolfwood. "A mass for the dead."

"So 'them' are the dead, right?"

"Right," responded Wolfwood. He kept talking because he was afraid of what silence would bring. "The next line you sing or say is often "Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis" which means "grant them eternal rest Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them." But I don't see that in your version…"

"Whoa, whoa," laughed Neil, "I don't need to get confused. I got my line down thanks to you, but I'll keep it to that one for now. Maybe you can teach me that other one another time. Are you coming to the concert tonight with Father Mac?"

"Maybe," Wolfwood winked at him. "Don't you have to get to school?"

"Oh shit, I mean shoot, yeah!" Neil grabbed his book and stood up. "Thanks Father!"

"Sure thing Neil," Wolfwood also got to his feet. He followed the child's jogging figure out of the dark church and into the warm early morning sunlight, deciding he had enough of self-pity and melancholy for the day.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun shone warm and bright in the lightening sky as Wolfwood headed up the street, a dark silhouette against the horizon. Looking above, he marveled at the whiteness of the sky, the early morning moisture in the air, the balmy breeze against his skin. He closed his eyes and savored the heat for a moment. Hard to believe everything that had happened since yesterday morning when he felt so…alive. This place was nothing like his home, but he felt strangely at peace here. Almost happy. He laughed to himself at the thought.

__

Happy…when was I ever really happy? There were a few times for sure--not many--memories that mostly revolved around his kids--the orphanage. And her.

For the last twenty-four hours, the priest had denied himself the luxury of thinking about his insurance girl. Years of living hand to mouth, running headfirst into trouble, handling (and to be honest, often creating) deadly situations had made him instinctively cut off what Chapel would have called "weak thinking." And yes, she did make him weak. But she also had made him strong--gave him the will to do things he didn't think he was capable of any longer. Through her stubbornness and simple goodness, she had inspired him to uncover depths inside that he thought were lost forever. Milly's courage had given him hope--not just for himself, but for their future together, and for the people of his world. His experience with the Gung Ho Guns had dulled his sympathy for the common man, perhaps by necessity. But being around Milly had changed him. She was like an emotional time machine who had returned him somewhere he thought he could no longer find--a place that no longer existed for him. He didn't want to lose that again…he desperately didn't.

And that damn Needle Noggin…he was probably as much to blame for Wolfwood's transformation as anyone. _"Love & Peace," forever and ever Amen, _thought the priest with a smile on his lips, as he continued walking up the street.

Fumbling in his suit jacket, he pulled out what felt like his last cigarette. He regarded it sadly. Sticking it in his mouth, Wolfwood realized he was also out of matches. Absently patting his pockets, he stopped walking and looked around, wondering how he was going to buy some new smokes with the little money he had.

He was standing in front of a small building alongside some overgrown railroad tracks. It looked very old but clean, and an unlit neon sign in the frosted window proclaimed "DINER." Wolfwood's stomach rumbled. Somehow dinner last night had only made him more conscious of how little he had eaten in the last few days. He pulled out his wallet and counted…$$6.80. Should be enough…or maybe there would be a nice waitress he could sweet talk into a free breakfast. Or a few sinners needing to unburden their consciences over a cup of coffee.

He opened the door and walked in.

The place was packed. He hadn't been able to see from the outside, but it didn't look like there was an open spot anywhere. The hustle and bustle was welcoming though, and he stood there in the doorway, trying to decide what to do, when a pink-and-white aproned girl approached him and said, "Need a light, sugar?"

Deciding his holy orders would serve him best when seeking charity here, he replied, "Yes, bless you, my child. I know as a man of the cloth I shouldn't indulge in such a vice, but…" he shrugged his shoulders self-deprecatingly, grinning at the waitress.

"Oh, forgive me Father, didn't realize…without your collar…" she stammered, then, remembering what had been offered, whipped out a cheap plastic lighter and handed it to him. "Keep it, please."

"Thank you, you were too kind to come over, especially since you are so busy here." Wolfwood intoned, as he lit his last smoke and let his eyes wander meaningfully around the room.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry we don't have a free table…let me see what I can do--shouldn't be too long of a wait," she chirped, and strode briskly towards the counter.

Wolfwood leaned against the doorframe and inhaled deeply. The people here didn't seem to have noticed him as a stranger in their midst. Perhaps this town was too large for someone like him to draw much attention. _Just as well_, he figured. The majority of the clientele seemed to be middle-aged men, stopping for some steak and eggs on their way to work. There were a few families seated around tables, and some couples in booths towards the back. All in all, looked like a nice joint to grab some food.

Wolfwood's eyes hardened as a young man got up from one of the booths and headed in his direction. His hand reflexively went to his hip before he remembered he was unarmed. He stiffened and stood up straight, wondering what this guy wanted.

The man stopped directly in front of him and looked him up and down, as if he was trying to ascertain exactly who Wolfwood was, or perhaps recording his appearance mentally for later recall. The man was dressed neatly but casually, in dark blue jeans and a green pullover that was stretched tight across his wide shoulders. His hair was a sandy brown and his eyes were an odd shade of turquoise--actually quite similar to Vash's. He gave no hint of his intentions until he thrust out his hand and burst into a smile, "Hi! You must be new around here…"

Grinning back, but still cautious, Wolfwood shook his hand firmly, "Guilty as charged, friend."

Inclining his head back towards the booths, the man said, "We've got a table back there…we were hoping you would join us. It's a bit crowded today, Father."

Wondering for a minute how the guy knew he was a priest, Wolfwood decided the waitress must have petitioned her customers for a free seat, and dismissed the question. "I'm much obliged, if it's not too much trouble."

"We'd very much enjoy getting to know you, Father. By the way, my name is Alex."

"Nicholas D. Wolfwood, at your service, Alex," responded the priest, "and enough of that "Father" stuff…regular names do just fine."

"Well, come on then, you must be hungry! Oh, and would you mind…" Alex mimed stubbing out the cigarette that Wolfwood had only just lit. Sighing, the hungry priest took a final drag, then crushed the butt into a nearby ashtray before following after Alex. They weaved through the mass of tables and bodies to a small booth in the back where a young woman sat waiting with a smile.

"Glad you could join us," she said sincerely to Wolfwood. She sounded a bit tired, as if it had been a long night. Alex slid into the booth next to her and the waitress hurried over, setting a new place for the priest at the table.

He sat down gratefully and smiled at his new companions. "Thank you very much for your kindness to a stranger…" he was about to continue, something about the charitable road to Samaria perhaps, trying to gauge if he was going to be able to land a free meal from these folks, when Alex's companion cut him off.

"We'd love it if you allowed us to treat you to breakfast…you've come a long way," she said.

_Well, that was easier than expected_, Wolfwood thought, raising an eyebrow. "If you insist…" he responded, feeling a bit off guard, but relieved nonetheless.

"We do," Alex stated firmly. "We know what it's like…" he stopped as his female friend laid a hand on his arm.

Curious about this couple, but needing to attend to the urgent matter of his hunger first, Wolfwood simply smiled blankly and opened the menu. They waited politely while he ordered and then made mindless chit-chat until his coffee arrived.

Drinking the steamy black water, Wolfwood felt himself relax again. The couple seemed nice and genuine. They were obviously in love--one only needed to see how they looked at each other to know that was a fact. They were cute together too. She was a little tall, long dark hair, dressed as casually as Alex, in jeans and a white shirt. Her large eyes dominated her delicate features, and Wolfwood realized with a shock that she bore no small resemblance to the small girl. _I'm going to flip if her name is Meryl_, he thought to himself.

"I'm forgetting my manners, ma'am," he smiled winningly at her. "I'm Nicholas D. Wolfwood, fortunate stranger to have found such kind folks in an unfamiliar town."

She looked straight into his eyes and smiled. Wolfwood suddenly felt as if his chest was caving in. In that face, Wolfwood saw all the joy and suffering of the world. It was a heart-breaking smile. It was an ageless smile. It was Vash's smile.

"I'm Rem."


	9. Chapter 9

The bright sun poured into the living room through the window. Milly squeezed her eyes shut tighter against its intrusion, then, remembering the light heralded a new workday, groaned. She was still exhausted, and achy from curling up on the couch. And why the heck was the stereo on?

In a flash she remembered everything that had happened the previous night, and suddenly she felt wide awake. Her eyes flew open and she was blinded by the morning.

"Aiiiiiii…." she yelled, and ran to close the curtains. Glancing at the clock, she saw the time: 7:58. Nice to know that biological alarm was still working. She wouldn't be late if she hurried.

The shower was scalding and brutal, just the way she liked it. The hot water beat down on her skin, washing away any sleepy residue along with the previous day's grime. Leaning against the tiled wall, she allowed herself a few minutes to reflect on the last twelve hours.

The water turned cold, cruelly returning her to reality. She had lost track of time, lost in daydreams.

Hopping out, Milly dressed in minutes. She took a little bit longer with her makeup…what the heck? _You never know who you're gonna meet, _she giggled.

She closed and locked the front door, virtually running to the car. She looked around before getting in, not quite sure what she expected to see. Nicholas was long gone. Oddly, she did notice a stranger up the street.

A tall figure in white stood in the distance staring at her. Well, it could be her imagination. Her parents always told her she had a good one. But she felt positive that she was right--the feeling of being watched was overpowering now that she had noticed the--man? Woman? She wasn't sure but the figure commanded attention. She didn't feel threatened, not exactly, but definitely uneasy. She sensed an authority that frightened her.

Realizing she had been staring back, she quickly opened the door of the car and jumped in. Not even taking the time to glance in the rearview mirror, she threw the vehicle into reverse, and, praying there was no one behind her, squealed out of her parking spot.

She turned left instead of right, hoping if she took the long way to the lot's exit the person would be gone when she reached the street. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew she was wrong--he would be there. _He'll be standing there, I won't be able to escape, _she thought in a panic, not even sure what she was afraid of.

Milly needn't have worried. The stranger, whoever it was, was gone.

More relieved than she cared to admit, she sped up the hill, running the yellow light to get onto the main avenue. Trying to shake off the chill that had spoiled her mood, she flipped on the radio. As she let the familiar melody soothe her, she heard a low voice interrupt the signal--"Where is he?"

Looking at the radio, she fiddled with the tuner, and switched stations.

"Where is he?" she heard again. It sounded like the voice was in her head. It was louder, harsher this time. Annoyed, she turned off the radio in exasperation as she got on the ramp for the interstate. And the voice stayed silent for the rest of her drive to the office.


	10. Chapter 10

Rem. Took a minute for the name to register. Rem. Recovering, Wolfwood took her hand in both of his and said, "So very nice to make your acquaintance, Rem."

"I've been hoping to meet you for some time," she said, "just not so soon." Wolfwood found himself unsurprised at this statement. He had no secrets from this woman. In her face he saw an understanding that was undeniable and complete.

"So…you," Wolfwood looked at Rem, "and you…" he turned to Alex.

"Yes," Alex said. "We are." The word didn't need to be spoken.

Sensing his discomfort, Rem said, "Actually we are a little different. We're visitors, in a sense. I came to see you."

"Don't be cryptic," Wolfwood said as calmly as he could. He felt he might actually be able to learn something from this woman. "Tell me everything."

"Who I am is not as important as what I have to say, Mr. Wolfwood," said Rem. "But I understand you might want to know something about me so this all makes a bit more sense."

Wolfwood nodded, looking intently at her.

"The past couple days have been hard for all of us," Alex said with a hitch in his voice. "We had intended on seeing you sooner, but last night…"

Rem interrupted. "Last night is over. We have to think of the future."

Wolfwood thought he saw the glimmer of a tear in her eye. This exchange had increased his confusion. _What had happened last night?_

"But I'll start by telling you a bit about my past. I was part of Project Seeds, the program that brought people to your planet. We left Earth seeking a better life and new beginning for the human race. The plants were our partners and allies in this endeavor."

"Are you telling me you're the reason for Vash and Knives?"

"Yes--in a very real sense, Project Seeds created Vash and Knives," Alex answered.

"So you know them? You made them?" Wolfwood asked with disbelief.

"She raised them!" Alex replied, looking over at Rem, who shook her head gently before replying.

"I tried to teach them about humanity, to show them what we stood for. What makes us special. Vash and Knives were to be crucial to the project's success. I did the best I could, but I made mistakes."

Wolfwood snorted. "Yeah, I guess you could call Knives a mistake. Sort of like calling the desert a sandbox…or a bullet in the head a minor irritation."

Rem didn't smile. "As humans we make many mistakes. But we learn to face them without judgment and make them right again."

"Vash bears the weight of your mistake; he has made it his burden to rectify it." Wolfwood's voice held a note of reproach.

"I know," Rem said sadly, "but this is not a mistake. Vash is the only one who can save Knives."

Alex looked at Rem. "This isn't about _her_," he said pointedly to Wolfwood, "it's about you."

"Yes," Rem agreed. "As humans we _all _make mistakes."

"I've made my share," Wolfwood replied. "That's why I'm here, no doubt."

Alex opened his mouth to respond just as the waitress arrived with their orders. They were silent until she had refilled their mugs and moved on to another booth.

"Anyway," Wolfwood said, trying to lighten up the mood, "what happened with you, Vash and Knives was a long time ago. Sorry if I seemed judgmental."

Alex looked angry. "Rem worshipped those boys! She treated them like family and sacrificed for their welfare. She _died_ saving their kind and gave her life so people like you could have a chance!"

"Stop, Alex," Rem laid a hand on his arm. "Mr. Wolfwood was trying to be kind." Turning to the priest, she said, "I learned from my mistakes. And so can you. This brings us back to why we are here."

"Great," answered Wolfwood. "Fill me in…so far the advice I've gotten has been pretty lousy…start over. Start over! When it's all already ended."

"Your teacher was right," said Rem. "You need to start over. You can. Think! You are no longer the same person you were in life."

At the mention of his former mentor, Wolfwood remembered the other bit of advice Chapel had given him. He looked up at the two people sitting across from him and felt ashamed of his cynicism. "Help me. Please," he asked, immediately feeling relief after allowing himself this small supplication.

Rem smiled at him. "Point yourself in the right direction and don't look back. Leave behind your past but remember the lessons from the mistakes you have made. As human beings we have the ability to right our wrongs. Make better choices this time. Take time to think it through, search for the answers. They are here."

Wolfwood was silent.

"I promise," Rem finished, "what happens now is up to you. Your future is your own responsibility."

Wolfwood was waiting for more. When it didn't come, he couldn't think of anything to say. He knew they were trying to help, but somehow these platitudes weren't what he was looking for. He had sat down with a million questions, and what they told him only multiplied the number.

"Ask…" prodded Alex, reading his thoughts.

"Ask…" repeated Wolfwood, struggling to stay composed although his mind was screaming with questions just like when he had been talking with Chapel. "Why? Why are you here? Why have you told me these things? Why are you trying to help? What will happen if I fail? Is there a time limit? Who is keeping track? Does Vash know about all this? Can I see my friends again?" His voice caught in his throat. "Can I see…her again?" _And what happened last night? _his brain silently asked but his mouth somehow couldn't.

"Actually, some of these questions are connected," Alex answered. "We came because you _can _see your friends again, at least sometimes. Rem has watched over Vash, but it is difficult to interfere or interact with that world from here. It is easier from other planes…later on." Wolfwood realized he was probably referring to Paradise… their Eden.

"In our case," Alex continued, "Rem of course "met" you while observing Vash. She wanted to help if she could. Because we know how much you mean to him."

Alex spoke plainly, not weighing his words as Rem seemed to do. Yet this last sentence fell heavier than all the rest, and impacted Wolfwood as the others had failed to do. That stupid Needle Noggin was his best friend. Had been. Past tense. The pressure, fear, sorrow, and realization of everything he had lost came crashing down on Wolfwood in a crushing feeling. It was so obvious, yet hearing this stranger state something so simple did what nothing else had been able to do in the last few days…Wolfwood began to cry.

Only slightly embarrassed, he covered his eyes with his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Rem slid out of the booth and came over to him, sitting next to him and wrapping her arms around him. She patted his back and murmured softly. With a sudden revelation, Wolfwood knew without a doubt that this gentle woman was the reason Vash had not wound up like Knives.

He leaned heavily into her arms and let himself surrender to his emotions. When he had cried out his frustration, anger, and sadness, he squeezed her gently and broke the embrace.

He grabbed his napkin off the table, wiped his eyes, and said, "Tell me how to see them."

He didn't honestly expect an answer, but he got one. Rem said, "It isn't difficult. It's kind of like meditation, or daydreaming. I close my eyes and visualize him, where he is, what he might be doing." Wolfwood realized "him" had to be Vash. "You will feel a slight sensation of falling, losing your balance, and then you will see them as they are. Sometimes it only lasts a second, sometimes hours." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "But do not do it too often. Especially with humans, it can hold them back. It will disturb them, and keep them clinging to you as more than a memory. Sometimes you will help, but more frequently you will hinder."

"How can that be?" Wolfwood believed Rem, but he didn't want to think that returning to Milly in this way would harm her. He wanted to see her, and felt selfish, but at the moment he didn't care.

Rem looked over at Alex, who considered the priest's question, then spoke. "I didn't realize for a long time how I was hurting Rem. By sticking around, she couldn't move on. She couldn't love again, couldn't do what was necessary to get over my death. At last I realized what I was doing, and I attempted to change my influence into something positive."

Anticipating Wolfwood's next thought, Rem joined in, "Alex loved me so much, but he was unable to let me go. I wasn't free of our past together for a long time. When I finally let go, I was able to go on living. It was difficult, and I never forgot him. I channeled my love into helping others."

"That's when you decided to join Project Seeds." Wolfwood said.

"Exactly," Rem smiled.

"I want to try."

"Right now?" asked Rem.

"Why not? And can you come with me? So you can show me if I am doing it wrong?" Wolfwood asked. He didn't want to admit it, but he was a little scared of this idea--that he was now a ghost and could visit other worlds.

"Me?" Rem sounded unsure.

"Yes. Please."

"I don't think it will work together, but I'll try."

"Thank you," Wolfwood felt relieved. Rem took his hands in hers.

"I'll try to come with you. But it may be your feelings are not strong enough to take us both."

Misunderstanding her, feeling as if his love for Milly was being questioned, Wolfwood protested, "They are, I'm certain. I love her."

"I know," Rem said softly, "but I hardly know her. I might not be able to help. It is the strongest emotions that will take you there."

"Thank you for trying," Wolfwood said.

They faced each other in the small booth and closed their eyes. Wolfwood saw Milly as clear as day, he pictured her walking along with Meryl, in the streets of Tonim Town. He imagined her state of mind, the hurt she was feeling, saw tears streaming down her face as she smiled, saying something, and tried with all his strength to enter the picture in his head.

Suddenly, he felt the loss of equilibrium Rem had mentioned, but instead of landing in Tonim Town, or in front of the girl he loved, he found himself in a dingy small room, and someone was crying. Wailing, actually. It was a horrible, unearthly sound, and the spectre he was could not block it out. He attempted to cover his ears, only to realize he had no physical form. It was as if he was part of the air instead of something separate.

The cries continued, and Wolfwood felt close to panic. He moved across the room, wondering how to return to the diner, desperate to stop these sounds of pain. Then he saw the source of the sorrowful assault, face down in a dingy bed, alone in a dark corner, crying as if the world was ending.

It was Vash.

Wolfwood felt a wrenching guilt at the intrusion and observed, powerless. He didn't see any sign of Rem, but he could feel her presence. "Help me," he thought wildly. "I want to help him!"

There was no answer, but Vash's crying abated somewhat. His screams had become whimpers, and he turned his head to the side, resting on the pillow. Wolfwood noticed in horror that his friend looked worse than he had ever seen him. His aquamarine eyes were dull and glazed, swollen and red, as if he had been crying for days. Instead of the vibrant and fun-loving Humanoid Typhoon, he looked weak and wasted.

Vash's eyes closed for a minute, and he whispered "Rem…"

Wolfwood couldn't hear a response, but thought Vash did, as the shadow of a smile appeared on the tear-streaked face. It was gone as quickly as it had come however, and another tear rolled down onto the drenched pillow.

"I'm sorry Rem," Vash said in a choked voice. "I'm so so sorry."

There was silence, and Wolfwood tried with all his might to communicate something to Vash. To tell him it was OK, to tell him to take care of Milly, to get any message at all across.

He was losing focus…he felt the room get dimmer and in desperation he tried to yell "I'm here!" Just as he slipped away, he called again "Needle Noggin!" Vash turned, and for a split second looked directly at him, before he was jolted roughly back into his reality.


	11. Chapter 11

The fluorescent lights above him stung his eyes as Wolfwood's awareness returned to the booth. His head had apparently lolled back during the trip, if that's what you called it, and he was looking straight up. Confused and alarmed, he turned to look at Rem.

She was still away with Vash--he could tell. Wolfwood turned to Alex. "What the hell just happened?" he asked quietly, as if he would wake Rem up from a dream if he didn't whisper.

Alex also looked distressed. "I have no idea. You tell me. Did it work?"

"I guess it worked," Wolfwood answered. "But we went to Vash, not Milly. That's who I was trying to see. The big girl." He felt strangely deprived.

Alex understood. "Rem was right. You couldn't take her there, I guess. What probably happened was she inadvertently took you to Vash. I guess it was some kind of accidental override. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Wolfwood dismissed the apology. "Just tell me what was going on!" He could still hear the echoes of Vash's weeping in his head. He felt like he was always going to remember that awful sound.

"I wasn't there. But you sound very upset…"

"Upset? Upset doesn't begin to cover it! What's been happening? Is Milly OK? Meryl? Vash sounded like . . ." he almost said "like his best friend died" and caught himself. Wolfwood knew Vash must have been saddened by his death, probably even blamed himself, but this anguish had been different. It was worse than simple grief. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did.

"Sounded like his world was collapsing around him," Rem's gentle voice finished for him.

"Yes…" Wolfwood looked at her, relieved she had returned to them.

"Obviously that wasn't supposed to happen," Rem said in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry we didn't see her."

"It seemed like you went where you were needed at that time, Rem, it's OK," Wolfwood said. "I sensed that you were helping, but I was paralyzed. I couldn't move or interact with anything, couldn't say anything…"

"We told you it was difficult from here," Alex reminded him.

Wolfwood thought for a moment. Finally he decided he had nothing to lose by asking. "What happened last night?" he said in an even tone. "I died at least two days ago, right?" He was so consumed with worry for Vash he didn't realize he had, for the first time, vocalized his situation.

Rem and Alex exchanged a look. It had a familiarity, the glance they shared, and Wolfwood found himself envying what they had found together. In their life before and now, wherever they normally called home. They had each other. They were together. He thought it was a pretty good bet these folks were usually in what he would call heaven, although he figured they were slumming for his benefit this morning.

"I'm not trying to be cryptic," Rem used his word from earlier, "but this is another opportunity for you to learn something. You can divine what has occurred yourself. It would be easier than me trying to explain."

"What? Can I see the past? Time travel? See the future too?"

"You have a connection with Vash," Rem answered. "Use it now, look inside, and you can relive some of his experiences. You can see it. You didn't realize it, but you have already used this power, when you were with Chapel."  
"It's the same way we know what you have been doing," Alex chimed in. "We can experience it, in a sense, by seeing it through your eyes."  
"But," Rem cautioned, "this is not going to be easy to experience."

"Yeah, I heard him," Wolfwood said heavily. "Are you sure you can't just tell me?"

"We could, of course," Rem said, and her voice shook a little again.

"Ah, shit, let me just try, I guess," Wolfwood said. He could tell this was something Rem absolutely didn't want to discuss, for whatever reason. He probably owed it to Needle Noggin to understand this…tragedy. That's what he was expecting. A huge freaking tragedy. He didn't have much direction, but he leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and emptied his mind. He tried to recapture the moment in that dark little room with Vash, to see what had caused his friend such pain.

Instead, he heard an ominous voice, low and threatening. "Found you…" it said teasingly.

Immediately Wolfwood's eyes snapped open and he stood up, ignoring the concern of his new acquaintances, looking around the diner, and not realizing how quickly he had switched into danger mode. He left the table to look out the window, his instincts on red alert and his eyes narrowing against the invisible menace.

Returning to the table, his brain was moving an ile a minute.

"What happened?" Rem asked with genuine concern.

"Legato. That bastard. Somehow he's…" and then it all fell into place. "Oh man…" Wolfwood sat back down, his heart heavy in his chest.

"Did you see it?" Alex asked.

"No, I didn't see it. I guess I didn't have to. I can figure it out now," Wolfwood replied. "He's dead too. Vash killed him. He must have. And now Legato's here."

"Here? Are you sure?" Rem sounded worried. _As well she should_, Wolfwood thought. _That bastard was bad news in life, probably even nastier in the hereafter._

"I'm positive. I heard him in my head. Doesn't death get to negate that little annoying habit of his?" Wolfwood sighed.

"You're right, he's dead. Vash shot him," Alex confirmed. "He was forced to choose between Legato or Meryl and Milly. It was a no-win situation."

Wolfwood smirked. "I call that a win-win situation for everyone. Easy decision. Legato dead is the best thing for the human race all around." Wolfwood was unable to hide his satisfaction that Legato hadn't succeeded in harming his friends.

"Don't you understand?" Rem implored him. "It was a lose-lose situation for Vash. He was forced to take a life. He thought he had no alternative. It has come as close as anything ever has to destroying him."

Wolfwood understood. _The bastard had won after all. _So that's where the cacophony of suffering came from. It _was _diabolical, even for Legato. "Doesn't Vash realize he did the right thing? Can't you reassure him?"

A tear slid down Rem's cheek. "Everything he believed he had to betray. No one can make him understand there wasn't another way. Who knows, maybe there was…"

"Damn, you sound just like him," Wolfwood was exasperated. "Legato is as evil as evil gets. He was human, sure, but just barely. By an accident of birth more than anything inside. He traded any remnants of humanity in exchange for power. He's as much a devil as Knives is, if you ask me."

"That may be," said Alex, "but it's not as simple as you are making it out."

The priest considered a minute. Alex was right. Of course Vash couldn't simply accept the black-and-white solution. Vash was more human than humans were, sometimes. He took things so damn hard--let things get to him. Vash wasn't happy just saving lives, he was miserable when he failed to save anyone. Even when people didn't want to be saved.

When the assassins sent to take his life failed, Vash took no revenge, held no grudge. He let his mantra of Love & Peace rule over common sense. That philosophy, Wolfwood always had known, ultimately had flaws. You couldn't, simply couldn't live that way all the time. It was a recipe for victimization, for disappointment. People let you down. That's also part of being human. You got your heart broke, you got kicked in the stomach, you got up from the punches a little older and a little wiser. _A little crueler sometimes,_ Wolfwood admitted to himself, _a little worse for the wear_.

But Vash never got toughened to the ways of the world. He was the eternal cockeyed optimist, wanting everybody to play nice. He probably had known what Wolfwood was from Day One, yet trusted in the corrupt priest's innate goodness rather than believing him to be capable of treachery. He could have easily removed Wolfwood as a threat. But he chose not to.

Thinking back, Wolfwood remembered so many times when it was out there, when Vash could have stopped him. Instead they had become friends. Real friends. Drunk as a skunk around the campfire, talking until dawn, going after the bad guys together kind- of-friends. And wonder of wonders, Vash wound up being right about him after all. Wolfwood couldn't betray the one soul he had come to believe was perhaps the only completely good man he had ever known. When the time came, he had chosen certain death, at the hands of Knives, Legato, or the Gung Ho Guns, over the look of pure sadness in those blue eyes.

"Promise me you'll never pick up a gun again," Vash had asked, bargaining with Wolfwood for his life. "Promise me…"

The memory echoed behind his eyes, as Wolfwood finally truly understood what Vash had lost by killing Legato. _He's lost himself, _Wolfwood was stunned. _He's completely lost his faith in himself and in others._

The weight of this realization so enraged Wolfwood that he wished that purple-haired bastard was there right at that instant. He would kill him a hundred times for what he had done to Vash. No, six hundred times, each one a little bit slower and just a tad more painful.

His reverie was broken by Rem's hand on his arm, a concerned look in her eyes. "This is unexpected," she said.

"Yeah, if Legato is here…I guess I'm in worse shape than I thought!" Wolfwood laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Isn't he one of those "rocket ship to hell" kind of souls? I didn't think he would get a second chance…"

"How can we judge?" asked Rem.

"What does God know?" Wolfwood quipped. "Can he judge through such darkness?"

"Aren't you a priest?" Alex asked in a shocked voice.

"Book of Job, Alex, not my words," Wolfwood smiled. "And yes, I am most definitely a priest. Some might say not a very good one, but I've read the book."

"Sorry, Father, I mean, Mr. Wolfwood. Sorry," Alex said.

Ignoring Alex's discomfort, Wolfwood turned to Rem. "OK, so Legato is here. Leave him to me. I'll find out what he's up to and handle it. But I do have some other questions, if you can stomach 'em." His confident tone was almost good enough to fool himself, but he had a small ball of fear in the pit of his stomach since he had heard that malevolently seductive voice in his brain.

"Of course," Rem said.

__

Not fooling her, Wolfwood thought with a sigh. "Who is this Milly here? The girl I met yesterday? She's so much like _my _Milly, but she's different. I feel…" he paused. "I don't know what I feel," he concluded lamely.

For the first time, Rem looked confused. _Not a good sign, _Wolfwood thought.


End file.
